


a certain kind of madness

by rainynickel (HippoCritical)



Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Nightvale weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippoCritical/pseuds/rainynickel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester's think they've seen it all. Then they enter Nightvale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a certain kind of madness

**Author's Note:**

> Just a random little ficlet with no real plot or purpose.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not real, not mine.

Life is life. Death is death. I am Cecil, your host.

Good evening, listeners and welcome to Nightvale.

The Sheriff's Secret Police would like to remind you that wearing pink, orange or fuchsia footwear has been banned on the days Monday, Wednesday and Friday, as it has been known to provoke the pumpkin shaped purple cloud that hangs over the Nightvale Dockyard and Shipping area. Eyewitnesses have reported that they could feel the ground beneath their offensive footwear clad feet shaking, and a low-pitched plaintive mewling was also said to be heard.

As you all know, the cloud, that the Sheriff has now named Jerry, first arrived into our town last month and has been only the epitome of a model citizen since then. It has paid its taxes on time, slaughtered the pre-requisite number of sheep every Sunday, and has also managed to regulate traffic by causing the lights to change color at its will! An exemplary example indeed. We should all strive to be as law-abiding and civically aware as Jerry, the Sheriff said, when he announced his plan to make it the new Treasurer for the Nightvale City Council. As you’re all aware, listeners, our town hasn’t had a treasurer for three years, ever since Stephen Fink, decided to quit due to his pet armadillo being unhappy that his job didn’t leave any time for the two of them together.

Speaking of visitors, our tiny, desert paradise saw the welcome of three men just yesterday.. These visitors, young, strapping and handsome men, according to Sheila, the daughter of Dave Matthews, the owner of the Nightvale Car and Bike Dealership, arrived in a long, black car and are currently living in the Night Vale Motel which is located just outside the town, right near the sand dunes. When asked for more information, Sheila’s face turned a vivid shade of red, and she only managed to stammer a few unintelligible words in a high-pitched, breathy voice, before fainting and falling onto the ground in a dead heap.

Now I don’t know of any being, human, alien or pumpkin that can cause such a strong reaction just by their mere presence so I advise you, dear listeners, to stay safe and steer clear from these strange, and unclassified-as-yet visitors.

More on this story as it develops.

Now, this isn't really news per se, listeners, but I am positively shivering with excitement and I simply can’t keep this to myself anymore. Carlos, the breathtaking and intrepid scientist you all know, invited me to breakfast this morning, at the Nightvale Starbucks.

At first, I wasn't really sure whether to go or not, when he called me up last night and suggested the idea. I mean, obviously I wanted to go; it is Carlos we’re talking about, light of my life, moon of my existence. But I was so sure I’d make a fool of myself. He’s so smart, and brilliant and I can barely form a rational thought around him, let alone carry on a full conversation. I was almost going to say no, resigning myself to a fate of pining pitifully from afar, but something in me decided to take a leap of faith, and I ended up blurting a ‘yes, of course’.

I am _so_ glad I did, listeners. The breakfast was simply glorious. The food was great, our waitress Marta was an absolute delight, and _Carlos_ , dear Carlos was just unbelievable.

He told me the funniest stories about his fellow scientist, who is not quite corporeal and also had a tendency to spit food on unsuspecting passer-bys. I told him about our humble little radio station, with our ghostly cat, and the three legged intern and he didn't interrupt me even once. I feel like he _actually_ listens to me. Oh listeners, I feel like I’m walking on clouds these days, even though it’s not even close to Christmas and the clouds haven’t been brought down to Earth yet for the annual Christmas Eve performance.

Breaking news, listeners. It has now come to our attention that all of the three visitors have reportedly been going around the entire town, asking about silly things like cold spots and ghostly apparitions. One of them, a giant hulking man with hair almost as beautiful as Carlos’s, got increasingly agitated when several citizens including Old Woman Josie, helpfully informed him that cold spots were obviously a sign of Nargle presence, and of course they saw ghostly apparitions. Where else would their fellow citizens, who were stuck in limbo during the tragic Time-Traveling incident of 1989 go?

One of the Tenebrous Trio, as our newest intern Eric has voted to call them, the man in the tan trenchcoat also was said to have been going around telling everyone that he was actually an Angel of the Lord, and that he would see to it that his brothers would correct this town. Whatever _that_ means.

We asked our resident angel expert, Old Woman Josie, and her only response was a loud spittle-filled snort and a vehement rant that since all angels had pink auras which were very obviously and visibly seen, she couldn't see how this nefarious young man could go around committing blasphemy, claiming to be one of God’s own servants. Shame on you indeed, she said, ending her tirade with the dreaded Frown of Disappointment.

Listeners, I know some of you may want to hear something different, but it seems like I just cannot continue with my broadcast, without having the Tenebrous Trio rudely interrupt it with their shenanigans.

It has now been reported that one of them, the stocky one who frequently peppers his sentences with curses like ‘son of a bitch’ and ‘goddamnit’, has been shooting the ghosts with bullets made of _salt_. Why, the very thought of harming our most revered and oldest townspeople just makes me sick!

They have also been muttering strange words that John Peters, you know, the farmer, has now identified as an exorcism chant used on demons. This is an outrage, I say! What right do you have, dear Sirs, to barge into our town and shoot our ancestors and start branding people as satanic demons?

Listeners, I assure you that the Sheriff’s Secret Police will not let these hooligans get away with their heinous crimes, and I can only hope that they leave this town as quickly as they can.

Oh, goodness! It seems that the Tenebrous Trio seems to have vanished into thin air. There have been no recent sighting of any of them, and I think by now it's clear that these villainous tricksters have finally realized the fault in their ways, and have fled the town. But the Sheriff's Secret Police will still be patrolling the town in their invisible helicopters for the next few days, just in case.

I for one, hope that this is the last we have seen of them.

We may never know exactly what it was that made them exit so hastily. Perhaps it was the guilt of their evil deeds. Or maybe it was the banshee we can all hear singing Celine Dion songs at three pm every afternoon, or perhaps they just had a conversation with Steve Carlsberg. I can assure you, that is reason enough to want to leave Nightvale.

Whatever it may be, the balance in our town, fragile and irrational it may be, has now been restored. We may now continue with our broadcast as planned, with no interruptions except the ones made by the Sheriff's Secret Police. And Carlos, of course.

Up next, is the weather….


End file.
